


old marrieds

by nymja



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, will note for DA:I spoilers if applicable, will probably span across all games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair rested his forehead against her own as they continued to glide across the ballroom floor, “You really think the Chantry taught me how to move in the language of love?”</p><p>"Is that what this is?"</p><p>"Of course. I’m not one for bragging, but you will notice that you are-" he dipped her low and winked, "-quite literally off of your feet."</p><p>--</p><p>A collection of drabbles/short stories for the Alistair / Elissa Cousland romance, most from tumblr prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. meandering (part 1 of 2)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starforged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/gifts).



> A collection of f!Cousland/Warden and Alistair drabbles from requests on tumblr. Feel free to drop requests for the ship in my askbox (gizkasparadise.tumblr.com/ask) or as a comment on the fic! I'll mark for any possible Inquisition spoilers!

"Oghren passed out in the fire again."

Elissa groaned as she pulled herself up into a sitting position out of her bedroll. She yawned, shoulders popping as she stretched her arms above her head, “How long?”

Alistair looked up at the ceiling of the Warden’s tent, where he was almost certain half-unbuttoned sleep shirts were  **not** present, and therefore the canvas was not able to tempt him with wicked, wicked thoughts like the aforementioned shirts and  _Maker_ he needed to learn to knock or something (could one knock on canvas? Could a beautiful commander sleep in attire that covered her up to underneath her chin? Both seemed like distant impossibilities), “Somewhere between singing and singeing, I imagine.”

The Warden sighed, tucking wayward tufts of hair behind her ears (they were shaped like little seashells—the ears, that is, and he did always like the sea, or at least, he imagines he would, should the sea have sea shells that look like ears and  _he really needs to learn to knock_ ) and started exiting the tent, “I’ll go kick him.”

"Marry me."

Elissa turned with a frown, “What was that?”

Alistair cleared his throat, and wished Andraste would perhaps be merciful and strike him down with lightning or divine retribution or at the very least, a burlap bag to place over his ashamedly flaming cheeks, “Oh, um, merry mead? Yes! Merry mead! As in, Oghren. He. Most certainly had some merry mead. Of course. That makes entire sense.”

"It sounded like marry me-"

"Meander? Yes, I think I will for a while. Fantastic advice, my dear."

"Did you just call me-"

"Deer! Naturally. Naturally there will be deer. As I meander. In the forest. Alone. And yes, someone should really see to that Oghren fellow right about now, shouldn’t they?"

She puts her arms on her hips. It makes the collar on her shirt dip lower. And he’s either going to knock or be sent to eternal damnation the next time the dwarf passes out in the campsite. 


	2. Meandering (part 2 of 2)

It was the kind of night where all things seemed to go wrong.

First, Oghren had fallen asleep in the fire. And that always, at the very least, smelled  _extremely_ unpleasant. Then he had been tempted by wicked, wicked thoughts. Gotten lost in the woods. Been scared by a deer. And, oh yes, Alistair was quite certain there was a marriage proposal somewhere in there.

Tonight. Was.  _Bad._

And it was also  _cold._ Because at camp they had to extinguish the fire or have dwarf done medium well, and then Alistair had gone to meander for a while and accidentally fallen into a stream (it was dark and he was…occupied with other. Thoughts. About Things. And not  _Thoughts._ ) so now he was soaked and alone and tired and cold and Maker preserve him he really  _did_ propose back there, didn’t he?

So, Alistair did what all bastard heirs to the royal throne slash Grey Wardens do when having a terrible night. He found a log and sulked on it. 

And it was a good sulking too, until he heard a tentative voice call out.

"Alistair?"

And he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why couldn’t it have been  _Shale_ or something? He took a breath, counted to three, and pitched his voice into a too-cheery falsetto.

"Yes, that’s me! Good old Alistair, spending some quality time in the forest and enjoying the night air-"

Elissa stepped into the clearing, eyebrow raised and looking unimpressed, and  _good Andraste did the woman not own any turtlenecks?_ "You were lost."

Alistair pouted, “I was not.”

"You were. Your footprints go around in at least four circles."

"I was merely enjoying the scenery, my love."

Elissa’s eyes widened just as Alistair’s mouth dropped in horror.

“ _Dove._ My- You- There are doves all around us-!”

"Alistair-"

"You know, I believe in Antiva,  _dove_ is another name for ‘completely-platonic-and-utterly-respectful-admiration-“

"-shut up."

His eyes widened, as Elissa bent her head down and captured his lips with her own.

 


	3. statuettes

"Fine," he sighed.

Elissa sent him a look that he was sure was sympathetic, but it didn’t matter. Because she didn’t  _mean_ it. 

"I…" the Warden cleared her throat, putting a hand on Alistair’s shoulder, "I understand that it’s hard to let go-"

Morrigan snorted, rolling her eyes, “Are we to continue to indulge such foolishness? I thought we were to stop a Blight, not coddle to a  _child-“_

"I am not a  _child,_ " Alistair said quickly, and caught himself just before stomping down his foot, "And I’ll have you know,  _hag,_ that these are very valuable-“

"They’re valuable to you…" Elissa cautiously agreed.

"They’re rocks."

Oh. That  _does_ it. Alistair threw his hands in the air and started to pace around the pile of his forsaken treasure, “They are not  _rocks,_ they are  ** _statuettes,_** and I’ll have you know that I had nearly the  _entire_ set of the Tevinter limited editions!”

Morrigan looked at him, looked to Elissa, and shook her head before stepping away, “ _Rocks_ do not trump  _supplies_ on this journey. The buffoon belongs to you. Deal with him, before I turn him into a toad.”

Alistair glared at her retreating back, only remembering that he was in a  _mood_ when Elissa sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"We’ll get you new dolls in Denerim."

Alistair bit down on his lip to stop himself from correcting her (because she wasn’t  _Morrigan,_ and she felt rather nice to hug) as he returned the embrace. He looked at the expansive pile of statuettes,  _siiiiiighed_ , and rested his head on top of hers.

"Can they be the Avvar war sets?"

Because Elissa had her face pressed to his chest, Alistair did not see her face screw up into an expression of disbelief, “…Sure.”

"With the blue sigils?"

"Of course."

"Those are the limited edition ones, you know."

"Don’t worry, I’ll find all the best rocks in Denerim."


	4. ballroom seduction

She can't even remember the last time she danced or how much fun it used to be, before all of this.

But she never quite had a dancing partner like Alistair Theirin before.

Her husband grinned, the expression caught somewhere between silly and charming as his hand rested firmly on Elissa’s hip, “I know, I know. He’s also a  _fantastic_ dancer. It’s not fair, really.”

The newly minted Queen smirked as she allowed him to spin her in a complicated twirl, “I wasn’t aware they taught the waltz at the Chantry.”

Alistair rested his forehead against her own as they continued to glide across the ballroom floor, “You really think the  _Chantry_ taught me how to move in the language of love?”

"Is that what this is?"

"Of course. I’m not one for bragging, but you will notice that you are-" he dipped her low and winked, "-quite literally off of your feet."

Still in the dip, her weight supported by her husband’s arm, Elissa arched a brow, “Then who taught you?”

Alistair reached into the fold of his dress jacket with his free hand, and produced a long-stemmed rose, “You can’t tease me if I tell.”

"I would never."

"You would  _so,_ but that’s beside the point at the moment.”

"You’re stalling."

Alistair placed the rose between his teeth, pulling her up flush against his chest in a manly and roguish way. Elissa twirled, before her hand splayed against a pectoral and her hair fell out in magical disarray.

"If you must know, it was Wynne."

Elissa blinked, breathless for a moment, “ _Wynne?”_

Alistair waggled his brows, “Turns out she has read  _quite_ a few of those saucy romances, and nearly half contain some form of ballroom seduction.”

"…is that what this is?"

"You  _have_ noticed the rose in my teeth, haven’t you?”


End file.
